Harry Potter and the Ankh of Osiris
by Anachronism Now
Summary: Taken in by an immortal squib archaeologist before arriving at Hogwarts, Harry is flung into the dangerous but lucrative world of tomb raiding. Balancing commitments at Hogwarts with travelling the globe in search of wealth and glory, there's certainly a lot to do. Slow-building, powerful Harry. Pairing is Harry/Fleur.
1. The Beginning

**_A/N Stuff:_**

 _The usual disclaimer – I make no claim to the Harry Potter works – they belong to JK Rowling. Purely a piece of fanfiction._

 _A few words on the fic:_

 _First, due to time constraints, this fic will be slow to update._

 _Second, pairings/storyline – this will be Harry/Fleur, and Fleur will enter the story's timeline before Goblet of Fire. No Veela bond/harem._

 ** _1140AD – The Valley of the Kings, Luxor, Egypt_**

The small party traipsed toward the cliffs that sheltered the entrance of the Valley of the Kings from the harsh winds of the Egyptian desert. The two men in the front were a long way from home. Clad in leather armor and stark white tabards emblazoned with a thin, stylized red cross, they had adapted to their new environment by combining martial practicality with comfort. Behind them were four other men who carried torches and guided camels that had cloth bundles lashed to their saddles.

Despite wearing the heraldry of the Knights Templar, one of the many Catholic military orders operating within the Holy Land, this was no Templar expedition – indeed, Luxor was too far removed from Jerusalem to offer any strategic or religious value to the Crusaders – but then, these men were not ordinary Templars.

Instead of carrying the traditional swords of the order, the two men carried wands, held relaxed at their sides, but accessible in the event of an emergency. They looked intently towards the valley, and spoke quietly to each other, inaudible to the people behind them.

"Did the map say specifically the location of the tomb, William?" One of the men asked. They were both broad shouldered, built like the soldiers of their order. His colleague withdrew a faded map from a leather pouch at his belt, holding his wand over it. Light illuminated from the tip, displaying a rough sketch of what appeared to be the Valley of the Kings. He gestured to one of the closer marked tombs on the map in response.

"I must say, it was a stroke of luck finding this map in Jerusalem," William began, "because it would've taken us a significant amount of time to search the other tombs in the Valley – and there may also be tombs that haven't even been explored yet." His companion let out a laugh at that, before reaching for his waterskin and muttering, "This pursuit has taken us halfway across the world. Thankfully, for once, fortune was in our favour."

William nodded at that, as they approached the entrance to the Valley, which was barred by a stone gate, blocking the way ahead. "Hmmm," William commented, "this shouldn't pose a problem. Godfrey, I'll talk to the porters, if you can deal with this?"

The taller man nodded, his black hair and full beard almost indistinguishable from the black of the sky above. He raised his wand, and moved towards the obstacle. "Use your subtlety, not your strength please." William remarked dryly, turning in the opposite direction to the white-robed porters, who had stopped in their tracks, one hundred paces from the stone barrier.

"Gentlemen!" William swept his hands into an open stance asking, "What seems to be the problem?" There was a shuffling of feet, before one porter stepped forward, tugging on his robes anxiously. "We go no further sir," the man began, "It is a bad omen to cross into the Valley of the Dead."

William shook his head in disbelief at this. "Amon, we discussed this back in Cairo – you were to carry our equipment into the tomb and assist us with setting it up." The porter, Amon, checked to see whether his companions were still in support, before replying "No further, Mr. William" in a tone that indicated his decision was final.

William threw his hands up in exasperation. "Fine. Have it your way. Make sure you're here when we get back, and that the boat is ready for us to return to Cairo as soon as possible." Without waiting for a response, he whirled and stalked back to where Godfrey had, with a series of clean cuts with his wand, created a passageway slightly larger than the size of a person through the rock. With a snap of his fingers, and a cry of alarm from the porters out of vision behind him, several of the canvas bundles unstrapped and then floated off the camels, and began to follow William.

"What was the problem?" Godfrey enquired, as he stepped into the tunnel he had made.

"Porter revolt – they think the Valley of the Kings is cursed." William responded, following his friend, and tugging at his gloves.

"In a way, they're right though," Godfrey pointed out, "but it's not the type of curse they think."

After several paces, they stepped out into the Valley of the Kings proper. A single, dusty track wound from the entrance, where they stood in the lower ground up to the higher sections of the valley. It snaked around spurs of earth that jutted out of the imposing looking cliffs.

"Perfect place for an ambush." William remarked, looking at the tableau. He raised his wand aloft and called more light, illuminating the path in front of them. "We'll need to walk for a bit into the Valley proper, and then take one of the offshoot paths behind one of those hills," He informed Godfrey.

They walked in silence, the air still and the night chilled, a contrast to the desert heat of the day. They passed two offshoot tracks, before they reached a third. "This is the third fork – we need to take a left here." William explained, turning, and leaving the main pathway. On either side were rock cliffs that rose slowly. There were tomb entrances on both sides of the cliffs, but they had been blocked up. "We're nearly there." He muttered. They travelled down the left path of another fork, and soon, their vision of the main pathway was blocked, as the offshoot curved sharply around a rocky outcrop. There was a small archway built into rock, and it too, had been sealed with stone. "This is the one we need." William pointed.

They approached the archway. Scratched into the stone were phrases in Latin and Greek, written by Roman tourists, attempting to achieve immortality by graffiting their names and record of travel into the rock. William flicked his wand and vanished the stone seal on the tomb with several precise movements. "We'll use bubble head charms, I think. I'm unsure if there's any holes that would allow for the exchange of air if the tomb's sealed, so we should be cautious." Godfrey cast the charm at William's words, and then turned to the packs that had followed them.

He untied the string on the closest pack, and began searching through for an object. His hand emerged a moment later, holding a piece of cloth. Almost reverently, he unwrapped the cloth revealing a tile, with a Lapis Lazuli Eye of Horus set into the middle. He followed William down the steps into the tomb.

The two men descended down a flight of fifty steps, deep into the ground. The ceiling above and the walls on either side were covered in a range of hieroglyphics and murals depicting Pharaoh's greatest living moments. At the bottom of the stairs was a junction, with a side chamber on the left and the right, and a passage leading to the first chamber. A cursory glance into both side chambers revealed that the tomb had indeed been plundered, with burial goods, artefacts, games and furniture strewn across the floor, with a distinct lack of gold or jewellery. "You shouldn't be surprised," William began, watching Godfrey's expression, "as you saw the carvings outside – other people got to this part of the tomb long before we did, but they didn't have the keystone to go further."

They moved into the first chamber, where they were met by more hieroglyphs on the wall. "Shine some light over here, if you could?" William asked Godfrey. The black haired man moved and then they were able to see one of the hieroglyphic sections clearly. It depicted Pharaoh commanding several men who were carrying a jewelled box, while a man almost as tall as Pharaoh stood directly to his side watching on. William ran his fingers over the box, feeling the wall. "Ah, there's an indent here!" he exclaimed excitedly. Godfrey, at this, raised the lapis lazuli tile and held it over the indent, checking to see if it would fit, before gently pressing it into the wall.

There was suddenly a glowing, and blue lines ran across the specific scene, before there was a grinding of stone and the section of the wall descended into the ground. As it did, the tile shimmered and vanished. William looked on, suddenly wary. "Accio tile!" He commanded, raising his wand. Nothing, however, followed. "This could pose a problem." He murmured.

"Nonsense – the tile probably vanishes because it's no longer needed. The muggles will have a new wing of this tomb to explore once we've finished emptying it." Godfrey declared with satisfaction. "Come William, help me with the diagnostic charms and sight checks. I don't want to end up the victim of some ancient Egyptian curse."

William, still cautious, cast spells around the left side of the entrance, while Godfrey did the right. The diagnostic charm, essential for cursebreaking and tomb raiding, caused the sides of the wall to pulse different colours depending on the magic saturation. After establishing there was magical saturation, the next step was identifiying what type of magic was being used.

Initially, warders and cursebreakers would use arithmancy to augment their diagnostic spell, allowing it to test for specific wards and curses. Novices would start with a diagnostic that could only test for the existence of magic, but experienced warders and cursebreakers had built many different wards and curses into their diagnostic, so could glean much more information from an initial test. This was why experience was prized within the profession. Due to the nature of augmenting the diagnostic spell, it meant that you could only test for spells that you knew existed. This was why novice cursebreakers didn't last long without supervision.

If you were able to confirm the type of ward that was being used, you could create a circumstantial dispel charm that worked based on the environment and the type of magic. The dispel would directly counteract the existence of the ward. It used little energy, because the magic was applied to a very specific situation, and was the preferred method of experienced cursebreakers and warders. Sometimes, where the type of magic used was either very familiar to the caster, or was very simplistic, the arithmantic process could be bypassed based on experience.

If you were unable to confirm the type of ward, you could try to use a blanket dispel, and its strength was tied to the power of the wizard or witch casting it. More powerful wizards and witches could dispel more and stronger wards, albeit with considerable effort. This was a very tiring process, and left the caster vulnerable to harm if their magical reserves were depleted.

Generally, the cursebreaking process would see all of the identified curses or wards removed through the circumstantial dispel, and finally a blanket one. This meant the blanket dispel had to remove less, and used less energy. The downside to the blanket dispel was that if the caster had more magical energy than you, you weren't going to be able to dispel their work unless the magic had decayed over time, or you had multiple people dispelling at once.

However, in this particular check, he walls pulsed blue, indicating there was no magic present on the entrance, and a thorough search for any carved runes or hieroglyphs ensured that they could cross the threshold of the new wing of the tomb without fear of enchantments or protections that functioned similar to an age-line.

The staircase ahead of them was incredibly steep, and descended far deeper into the ground. William moved his hand through the archway before stepping onto the staircase, and immediately the ceiling, floor and walls pulsed red. Both William and Godfrey had spent the bulk of their wizarding careers thus far involved in decursing and warding. Part of their responsibilities with the Knights Templar had been to remove the magical wards placed on Jerusalem by the holding Caliphate. This had seen them work with a number of experienced cursebreakers and warders from across Europe – the best that money could buy – and they'd progressively augmented their diagnostic charms to be comprehensive – an amalgamation of the talent they'd worked with.

"This appears to be standard – there's an anti-apparition ward here, and notice-me-not charms. Nothing particularly nasty, but I think that will change as we get closer to the treasure room." William said thoughtfully, before breaking off, exclaiming "Oh, what's this? A trip jinx on the top step?"

Godfrey roared with laughter. "Anyone that gets caught by that deserves to break their neck at the bottom." He said, before making some precise movements with his wand. "We'll do the blanket dispel, and then we'll proceed forward." They flicked their wands, and did not feel an impact – a sign that there was no ward in place to dispel – or that their dispel wasn't strong enough to impact the magic put in place by another force. That was the unlikely scenario though – for their combined magic to not be strong enough to dispel something cast over a thousand years ago, that person would have to be more powerful than anything they'd seen before.

The two men stepped into the corridor, and diagnostic charms at the ready, inspected the second step. Finding it clear, they stepped down onto it, methodically ensuring that their path ahead was clear of traps, especially after the experience of the trip jinx.

A pause, and then suddenly, the stairs gave out underneath them. Wands held aloft, they plummeted down the stairwell, which was now a very deep shaft. Not expecting the sudden drop, the men lost their wands in the confusion. "Arresto Momentum!" roared William, ensuring the two would not die from falling from a height. Wandless summoners as they fell ensured the pair were able to regain their wands, but as they fell towards the bottom, previously unnoticeable grooves in the walls slid apart with vicious copper blades swinging out at speed, aiming to skewer anyone who was in the shaft, no matter what height they were at. Hoping that Godfrey was alert and covering the side closest to him, William conjured and banished a square of sheet metal at the protruding blades, just as they hit the ground. Metal hit metal, but the blades, robbed of their momentum due to the conjured resistance, created several dents within the iron, but did not reach him.

He turned around, and saw that his partner had accomplished the same result, but with a different means, having liquefied the copper, playing to his own strengths. Godfrey, however, did cry out in pain, as he hit the ground a half moment later than William, and he pitched forward onto the ground, clutching one of his ankles.

William took stock of their surroundings. The blades appeared to have retracted, and the stairs suddenly began resetting to their original formation. There were two skeletons next to Godfrey, very close to the wall. They were covered in purple, white and yellow robes, with leather satchels at their sides, and next to them lay two staves. Other tomb robbers, perhaps? He dismissed the thought, and turned to his friend, satisfied there was no imminent danger. "Are you alright?" He asked, concerned.

"My ankle, I think – it's broken." Godfrey grimaced. "Clearly your spell isn't so effective when cast wandlessly on two targets. Didn't check my fall completely." He tapped his wand to his ankle, and groaned again as the bone locked back into place. "My mobility will suffer a bit, because it'll be still tender, but I should be okay." He moved over to the skeletons of the other two would be robbers.

"Clearly they had no wandless momentum spell, or could not deal with the copper scythes," William began, "but their existence here disproves your theory that the tile vanishes. In our readings, I never found reference to the existence of multiple tiles – only THE tile. Perhaps it resets, or changes location?" Godfrey listened to his friend, and then looked at the skeletons closely. "Maybe – I'm not sure what that means for us though, if that's true – how old do you think these people are?"

William walked up and opened the pouches, looking for any information that might fill them in. "There's some vials of potion that's probably spoilt now, some bandages and a book in here," He began, "but I don't know enough about the wizarding history or culture of Egypt to assess their time period." He stood up from his crouch, holding the book, and gestured to the archway. "Shall we?"

Godfrey shook his head and held his wand at the archway, running the diagnostic spell again. It revealed the upcoming chamber was covered in a magical coating that reflected spells cast. "We also need to look for muggle devices or mechanisms – those stairs and blades weren't magical. Just a fantastic piece of engineering. We should've bought Guy." William said, before walking into the room. In front of them, on a table, was a scythe. The walls were covered in hieroglyphics depicting men in the field, using the scythe to gather reeds, and then bundling them, before taking them to the papyrus maker. Looking beyond the table, the two could see a field of reeds obscuring their view of the door, with a large basket in the center of the room.

"Not even close to what I expected." Godfrey muttered. "What kind of expedition have you got me into?"

William looked at the hieroglyphs, and then at the book he had looted from one of the skeletons. "What do you know that we don't?" He muttered to himself, before opening it and thumbing through the papyrus pages, looking for a clue. After several minutes, he looked up, inspecting the room ahead of them. "Godfrey, this is the Book of the Dead. The Egyptians believed that in the afterlife, you were still required to do work – you maintained your plot of land. I think this is a test." He explained.

Godfrey nodded slowly. "I say we try the door first – I don't want to cut up reeds." He reached the reed field, and tried to push the reeds away, before jumping back, swearing viciously, holding his hand. "It cut me!" The reeds did not budge. "I'll try the sickle." He threw up his hands as a concession.

Gingerly, he plucked the sickle from its resting place, and bent down to cut the reeds at their base. The scythe carved through them like butter, and as soon as the scythe touched the reeds, they bent passively, losing their sharpness and rigidity. William bent down next to him and began bundling the reeds, using some string to bind them into appropriate sized clumps.

After an hour's work of clearing out the chamber of reeds, the two men were sweating profusely, but there were a number of reed bundles stacked in the basket. The door ahead retracted into the floor, and the way forward was cleared. Wiping his brow, Godfrey reached for his waterskin, taking a long drink from it as he moved to the entrance of the second chamber.

The chamber that they entered was far larger than the one of reeds, and was completely empty, apart from four statues on the far wall that flanked the doorway exiting the chamber. The ground was covered in sand, but was unevenly distributed, creating tiny dunes that rose up to the knees of the two men.

"That statue seems somewhat familiar – didn't one of the porters point it out when we went past on the barge?" Godfrey asked, looking at one of the shaped blocks of coloured sandstone. There were four, each a hybrid of human-animal. An eagle's head and wings with the body and legs of a man. A Jackal's head, with a human's body. A crocodile head on human body, with a strong scaly tail. A lower body of a hippopotamus, but the torso and head of a woman. They each held staves, in their respective appendages. "This is certainly another test. Be on your guard." William cautioned.

They raised their wands, crossing the thousand-yard gap between the door they came through and the door they needed to move through to progress. As they reached halfway, there was a rumbling, and the statues began to move. Slowly at first – like waking up from a long nap – before moving towards the pair with a speed that belied their size and substance.

The eagle statue leapt into the air, jumping as opposed to flying, before landing in front of them. It whipped its wings and, with its stave hovering in front of them, blew up a gust that smashed into the dunes, sending sand towards them. If it was not for the bubble-head charm, they would have both been killed in the immediate instant after, as the jackal and crocodile hurtled around the eagle and used their stone arms to smash into the two wizards, who were protected from the sandstream, and thus able to jump back – Godfrey with some effort due to his ankle.

"Bombarda Maxima!" roared William, pointing at the crocodile statue, only to pitch himself backward onto the ground as the curse rebounded and crashed into the sand dune in front of him. Visibility immediately obscured, he conjured another sheet of iron in front of him, desperately trying to fend off an opportunity attack he anticipated was going to come from the hippopotamus or the eagle. The sound of stone on iron rang through the chamber, as William used the obstruction to pull himself to his feet again. "They're invulnerable to our spells!" he called out to Godfrey, unable to see him due to the sand stream that had been whipped up.

"I know! Any ideas?" his partner called back, before there was a grunt and a flash of light visible through the sand from where William was standing rebounded again. "The type of spell doesn't seem to matter!" Godfrey yelled.

Two of the statues advanced on William again, and he was able to side-step one, but the sand slowed his movement and he was not agile enough to evade the second, the large sandstone fist knocking him backwards and into one of the dunes. As the crocodile statue surged forward to take advantage of the felled wizard's precarious position, he flicked his wand in a diagonal movement, causing a jetstream of water to arc from the hands of the statue to the ground. He waved his wand again, as the stream continued, and the water turned to ice. The statue struggled to free its arms from the ice, giving William time to backpedal, and devote his attentions to the jackal, which had moved towards him.

As the sandstone jackal raised its arms above its head, to bring it down and pulverize the wizard, he moved quickly to conjure two steel manacles, and banished them into the wrists of the statue. Unfortunately, chaining the wrists of the statue did not stop the statue's ability to pulverize someone with a downwards crushing movement, and William had to roll out of the way. The fists hit the sand, throwing up even more of the coarse grains. He had no idea what was happening several yards away with Godfrey, but given that they were dealing with two equally, and he saw what he thought were jets of light in the sandstorm, he presumed his partner was still standing.

He waved his wand and directed a counterstream of air at the sand coming from the eagle, before conjuring up several more sheets of metal that acted as a barrier, blocking the movements of the still partially frozen crocodile, who was pulling backwards, trying to use its weight to shatter the ice, as well as the jackal. "We need to disengage, and think about this." He roared through the sandstorm under the exertion of the transfiguration. "This will buy us some time!"

Godfrey nodded, and with the sand temporarily streaming in the other direction, was able to direct a powerful banishing charm to push him and William to one of the corners of the room, granting them a temporary reprieve. "They're immune to spells cast on them directly, but they're not immune to indirect effects." William said, breathing heavily. The physical exertions of the reed room, in combination with the conjuration, quick movement and spellwork had left him drained. "Are you thinking of Fiendfyre?" Godfrey began, "using the heat to make the glass, like those two wizards in Rome showed us?"

William nodded, watching across the chamber as the statues pummelled through the barriers he had erected, and then began moving towards the two wizards. "Has to be – we need an end to this now, or we're dead – do you have enough strength to control it?" He asked Godfrey.

"I'll have to." Godfrey said, brushing the sand off and readying his wand. He made several motions and then hurled a stream of fire out of his wand that engulfed the oncoming statues. Flaming creatures danced out of the torrent, spurting from side to side, erratically. A glance at Godfrey revealed the strain he was under, sweat from the heat and the exertion dripping down his face, soaking his black hair. Suddenly, he collapsed down, managing to force his wand into the air, sending the stream against the roof, before the torrent began to subside and then, abruptly, died out.

William looked at where the fire had been a moment ago. In place of four sandstone statues were four shapes made of brilliant reddish glass. The sand underneath the torrent of fiendfyre had also been transformed, with the extreme heat of the dark magic converting the sand and stone. Whatever magic had been powering the statues did not appear to function through a transfiguration or conversion of the subject's matter, as was often the case, and the statues now presented no threat at all. Indeed, with the flick of his wand, William's explosive curse shattered them into fine powder. There was a rumbling and the door the statues had been shielding ground open.

William collapsed backwards, permitting himself to rest a moment in the sand next to Godfrey. "We were so close to not making it through that." William said quietly. "Thank god that wizard travelling from the Orient taught us that spell."

Godfrey nodded, sipping again from his waterskin. "Do you have any idea what comes now?" He asked William, as he pulled off his gloves and ran his fingers through his hair, eyes closed in exhaustion.

William clutched for the book in his satchel, before lifting it out and scanning it. "From what we read in the chamber of the reeds, and what we've just faced, it seems that we're travelling through a tomb with challenges based off the pathway through the Egyptian variant of the underworld." He said slowly. "One of the other challenges we should have to face is the weighing of the heart ceremony. Your heart represents a record of your actions in life, and is weighed against a feather – a symbol of truth and justice."

Godfrey looked up. "Look – we're really struggling here – we both don't have much left in reserve. If the room ahead isn't the last room, we'll have to turn back and come back after recuperating." He cautioned. William inclined his head in response. "I think we're nearly there, Godfrey – according to the book we've dealt with the two biggest challenges."

The two men staggered across the sand, moving towards the opposite door. Weary, they moved through the door and entered a narrow corridor, lined with hieroglyphs, lit by fire. As soon as they approached the threshold, they suddenly felt better – confident – and all thoughts of retreating to rest and recover were banished from their mind.

"This must be Gubraithian Fire – nothing else could have lasted this long. We need to check for wards." William noted, making some short, sharp jabs at the walls with his wand. The corridor was long, and the walls pulsed with an ugly red light under the diagnostic charm. "Fantastic – more use of magical energy." Godfrey noted. "There's ward stones embedded into the walls." William commented in response.

Ward stones acted as repositories for magic which allowed them to resist specifically crafted dispels, forcing the caster to apply more power, or, making it impossible for some wizards to overcome the ward. Inexperienced warders and cursebreakers would try to burn through all their strength overcoming the amount of magic stored in the ward stone, but that could kill you if you were unsure how much power was in the stone to begin with.

If a caster was talented with Arithmancy, they could devise a spell that created pressure in one specific part of the ward, parting the magic, allowing a partner to blast the ward stone directly with a reductor curse. The alternate strategy was to use a blast and focus approach. This was called into practice if the caster's arithmancy was insufficient, or they were rushed. A blast would draw energy from the ward stone across the ward, and if, immediately after, the caster targeted a small part of the ward's coverage, oftentimes, the magic would not be able to reach the targeted area with enough strength and in enough time, creating a small hole in the ward for a very short period of time.

William maintained the diagnostic charm, thinking for a few minutes. The passageway was 100 yards long, and every twenty yards was another set of ward stones. "The diagnostic reveals that ward conjures fiendfyre if it is triggered." The colour drained slightly from his face. It was extremely debateable whether or not they had been able to control the fiendfyre in the last room, and in the narrow confines of the passageway, triggered the dark magic would have fatal consequences.

"If you draw the ward's energy, I can make a small hole that will allow us to try and overload the ward stone." Godfrey said. William nodded, and Godfrey's wand emitted a blast of white that spattered the ward. As he did this, William flicked his wand and called a sharp beam of the same white light that focused on a miniscule section of the ward. There was a shimmer, and, almost unperceivable even to the trained eye, a slight gap in the ward. A reducto curse thrown through the gap caused the ward stone to crack. Godfrey clasped William's hand in celebration. "One down, nine to go." He chuckled, shaking the blonde wizard.

William couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, but every time he thought of the unease, it was gone immediately, reassuring him that they would be successful and they could do it… _if they just kept going._ Over the next two hours, the two wizards moved through the passageway, progressively disarming more and more ward stones, and deactivating the fiendfyre traps that had been embedded in them. Again, at the conclusion of removing the traps, they cast a general dispel, and did not feel any change in their magic levels. Upon reaching the doorway at the of the corridor, there was a grumbling of stone, and the door slid to the side, allowing them into a very unusual looking room.

A few steps in front of them was a floating scale. To its left was a fearsome looking creature that was part lion, hippopotamus and crocodile. To its right was a man with green skin wearing a white robe, crown and carrying a crook and flail. "Hello there!" Godfrey called out cautiously, wary of the man's potential spellcasting capability, and also the creature. There was no response from the man, who merely looked at the scales.

William peered beyond the scales. There was what appeared to be an underground river, travelling deep down a passageway of hieroglyphics. There was a straw boat sitting just behind the scales, on a dock. "I think this is the weighing ceremony." He said quietly.

"What, we're supposed to cut out our hearts?" Godfrey scoffed. "What's the point of this treasure if you have to die to get it?"

Again, the hieroglyphics on the wall told the story. The scale, which had a book upon it instead of a feather, was replicated in the picture glyphs on the wall. There was a wand opposite the book in the picture. William looked at the wand he held in his left hand, and the scale, which had a book upon it instead of a feather. "I think we have to place our wands. Maybe it's an assessment of magic. If the beast makes a move, make sure you get me out of the way, okay?" He laughed softly.

He approached the scales, watching both the figures for any sudden movements. He gently placed his wand on the scales and waited for a moment, breathing slowly. There was a flash of green, and the scale hovered, the book and the wand balancing out equal. "You may proceed." Intoned the green-skinned man in a solemn voice, gesturing with his crook towards the boat. William took his wand, and stepped onto the dock, and then the boat.

He watched as Godfrey stepped up, and placed his wand onto the scales. Moments passed, and there was a flash of red. In the same tone, the man said "and you may not." He gestured with his flail at the fearsome looking creature, who sprung with incredible agility at Godfrey, who was knocked down. He rolled out of the way of the bite of the alligator, and hurled himself to his feet, racing for the scales to retrieve his wand. He held out his hand, the standard for a wandless summoning charm, but the wand did not move. He blinked in surprise, still keeping his momentum. The creature leapt again, and raked the back of his armor with its lion claws. He grunted, and began to fall forward under the weight, but managed at the last minute to extend a foot to prop himself up. He dodged and tried to snatch at his wand, but was unable to move it from the pedestal.

William, reacting at the same time, tried to leap off the boat, which had begun departing from the dock, but was blocked by an unseen force, keeping him an unwilling passenger. He drew his wand and sent several jets of green light towards the creature, but as they passed over the water, they dissipated. He blinked in confusion. Magic didn't just fade away like that – especially not the killing curse. "Godfrey!" He roared.

Godfrey, unable to get his wand free, ducked under the scale and tried to make a leap for the boat. The creature skidded on the sand and pursued him, ambling across the uneven surface on all fours, its eyes grinning cruelly, hungrily. Just before he could step foot on the dock, the same force that had obstructed William hurled him back, sailing over the devourer, who leapt for him but missed. He landed flat on his back, and with a frantic, panicked glance, he looked back for the door through which they had entered, and seeing it shut, tried to find anything that he could potentially use as a weapon.

Suddenly, the fear in his eyes snuffed out, replaced by determination and resignation. He stood, facing the oncoming amalgamation of man-killing Egyptian animals. "Look after my wife and son, William – it's been a pleasure." He called to his friend, who was pounding on different parts of an invisible wall that surrounded the boat, with fists and magic. He drew his knife from his boot, attempting to take his foe with him, and as the beast rushed forward, at the last possible second, he allowed the momentum of the beast to carry itself onto the knife. As it did so, its jaws closed upon his head, and with several sickening cracking and crunching noises, William knew his friend was no more. There was no scream.

William collapsed onto the straw that made up the floor of the boat, physically, mentally and emotionally spent. Time was meaningless, the boat continuing to float quickly down a long hallway marked by hieroglyphics and more fire. Godfrey Potter had been a constant companion of his since the two of them met had met in their first year of Hogwarts. The two of them had travelled across Europe, and then into the Holy Land as part of the Crusades, and it was through their experience that they had heard the rumour of the treasure. That one of them might die in the process was not something either of them had considered – they were experienced, cautious – weren't they?

The boat drifted to a halt, and William picked himself up off the floor, holding his wand. Internalizing his sorrow to come to terms with after he was out of the tomb, he took slow, steady paces towards the sealed door that confronted him. As if sensing his approach, the stone eased out of the way, leaving the doorway open.

He stepped through, and cast his routine diagnostic spell, but cancelled it immediately afterwards when it showed nothing. Sweeping from left to right, he could see nothing but wealth. Massive mounds of gold pieces, gems, jewellery, almost as far as the eye could see. There were also burial goods – exceptionally high quality fabrics, books, carvings, statues, board games – and works of culture, with paintings and carvings. This was a treasure no man could spend in a lifetime – or even multiple lifetimes.

The massive cavern was filled with wealth, but there was a stone pathway that led through the mounds of treasures, leading to a small chamber. William felt drawn to it – they had not come for treasure – they had come for a specific treasure – perhaps….it was there? As he walked towards the door, he passed works of art from a number of different ancient civilizations. If he was paying attention, he would've noted that no Egyptian had contact with some of the cultures that had produced those works, yet they still existed here, in this repository.

He entered the room, and as he did, a stone door shut behind him. The room was small – a man could stand at full height, but only just. There was a torch of gubraithian in each of the corners of the room, and oddly, the walls were not covered in hieroglyphed – just smooth sandstone. In the centre was a small crystal basin, filled with pure liquid. Floating above it was an ankh of solid gold, inscribed with tiny runes.

This was it. The Ankh of Osiris. William looked upon the relic almost reverently. He staggered to the basin, drinking it in from every possible angle. His wand stayed at his side, and with one gloved hand, he reached out for the ankh, cupping it gently. As soon as it was in his grasp, his mind suddenly cleared, and it dawned on him that they had made a horrific mistake.

There was a sound of hideous laughter, and William felt an intense pain at the core of his being, like a white hot knife that was twisted. He sank to the ground, unable to drop the ankh, which was now burning hot in his hand. Blue energy poured out of his body, and vanished into the basin. He twisted violently on the ground, as if he could move away from the pain, but it began in his body and radiated outward, inescapable.

"Your magic appeases me!" an ethereal voice echoed, followed by a hideous laughter. "The cost of immortality is very very high!" William groaned, and suddenly felt sand spilling down onto his head, slowly, then quickly. He looked around the room, half blind from the trauma, and noticed that room had begun to disappear, the walls becoming translucent, and the treasure in the outer chamber had also begun to vanish. "What?" He breathed in query, not expecting an answer.

Suddenly, the cavern roof had faded, and the sand stream had become a deluge – the cavern of treasure had faded completely, and William was surrounded by sand. "Depulso!" He croaked, finding it difficult to speak because of the sand, and the fact that it felt like his lungs and internal organs had been ripped through his throat. Nothing happened. He stared incredulously at his wand, and then the onrushing sand covered him completely, and he knew no more.


	2. A Year in the Life of Muggles, Pt 1

**June 17, 1990 – St. Grogory's Primary School, Magnolia Road**

Harry Potter sat at a desk in the front row of the history classroom of St. Grogory's Primary School. Being at the front of the room increased the likelihood the teacher would call on him for an answer, but the reward was marginally more protection from Dudley and his gang. That assumed the teacher was paying attention, of course – Mr. Collins' teaching demeanour saw him get excited and distracted about tangential parts of history, becoming far too absorbed in his teaching to realize that some people in the class were acting up.

However, it was not Mr. Collins who walked in. The class was seated, as was the expectation, and the teacher was late. There was a hubbub of noise around the classroom, and someone threw a paper ball at Harry from the back of the classroom. He didn't know who it was, but he could guess, and his suspicion was confirmed a moment later.

"Gotcha, freak!" Dudley Dursley cried from the back row, where he sat with Piers Polkiss, and his three other henchmen, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon.

Harry sighed, and concentrated on the textbook that was in front of him. The front cover depicted a golden death mask, with lapis lazuli trimmings. They had just moved to learning about Ancient Egypt.

Suddenly, the classroom door swung open, and a tall man with brown hair that was swept up and forward stepped into the classroom. He had a neatly-trimmed full faced beard and was wearing a blue woollen sweater, with a white collared shirt underneath, khaki slacks and tan coloured shoes. Slung over his shoulder was a leather satchel with two golden buckles. He appeared to be in his mid-to-late twenties.

He moved to the completely empty teacher's desk, and as he did, a small black and brown Jack Russell padded beside him, before jumping up onto the desk, sitting down and surveying the students. It barked once, and wagged its tail.

William chuckled, placing his satchel on the desk. "Greetings ladies and gentlemen – my name is Mr. William Rawls, and I will be your history teacher for the next year."

A girl in the front row raised her hand. "Yes?" William responded cheerily as he rummaged through his satchel.

"What happened to Mr. Collins?" She asked.

"Mr. Collins has come into a large sum of money and has decided to take early retirement. Fortunately, he discovered that I would be in England for the foreseeable future, and at my agreement, he recommended me to the school board, who offered me a teaching position as his replacement." William smiled.

"You knew Mr. Collins?" The girl replied.

"Yes – we were both working on the same tomb dig outside of Cairo a few years ago. I was working with a private company, and he was there advising some students." He answered.

"You and Mr. Collins robbed tombs?" Dudley called out from the back of the classroom. "That's so cool!"

"I'll tell you what – what's your name sorry?" William asked, peering to the back of the room.

"Dudley Dursley!" Dudley said eagerly.

"Right – Mr. Dursley, because it's my first lesson, how about I start with one of my tomb raiding stories?"

There were nods from the entire class. "Yes Sir!" Dudley exclaimed. William nodded and grabbed the teacher's chair, placing it in the center of the room, sitting interrogator style, his arms resting on the chair back.

"The curriculum says we're to be learning about Ancient Egypt first, so I'll tell you about one from there." He began. "So let's talk about a few things before we get into the story – first, the majority of archaeology doesn't happen in pyramids and the like now – can anyone tell me why?" His eyes scanned the room, waiting for a hand. One shot up. "As you answer, please tell me your name as well." He instructed.

"Susie," the girl said, before beginning her answer; "and it's because all the big landmarks like pyramids have already been found, so there's nothing left to explore?" William nodded.

"Correct. So, the majority of archaeology happens in uncovering ruins, tombs, or more often, doing reconstruction and restoration – repairing things to make them like they were." He began again. "It's also very rare to find a hoard of gold and jewels or elaborate booby traps – they save those for the Hollywood movies. What you can find, however, is a poorly constructed tomb that can collapse at any moment. That's a danger in and of itself."

There was a distinction between magical tombs and muggle tombs. The wizards of Ancient Egypt were secretive and vicious group of individuals living in an era of conflict and political subterfuge, where people jostled for position, power and influence. There was no centralized magical academy, so wizards developed their own spells – usually designed to inflict devastation on their enemies. They guarded these spells zealously.

Finding a wizard or witch's spellbook would give any magical rival a huge advantage over the owner, as you would know the extent of their magical capabilities, and could deploy their own spells unexpectedly against them. Stored in places secured by magic, and depending on the paranoia of the wizard or witch in question, elaborate and nasty traps or devices of muggle means, this was the type of archaeology and tomb raiding that happened outside of the muggle world.

This distinction, however, was unimportant for a grade five history class and also violated the Statute of Secrecy. The story that William recounted to them was a muggle dig he had worked on with a private company. It was routine, or should have been. A wealthy owner who had a love of archaeology had contacted a muggle shell company owned by Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank, looking for several people to help them with the final stages of an excavation, which they were using as a company team building exercise.

Gringotts had no qualms about working on muggle digs, for it was advantageous to their interests. Wizards and witches of Ancient Egypt often formed contracts with Pharaohs and nobles where they would secure land and wealth from the muggles in exchange for magical services, such as warding treasure rooms and tombs. These wizards and witches would build their tombs and repositories of magic near to muggle settlements, where they would be close enough to enjoy their privileged relationship with the Egyptian nobility.

They employed notice-me-not charms, wards and other magical methods of concealment to disguise their tombs from the muggles, and these were as effective in 1990AD as they were in 4000BC, as long as there was enough magic left in the ward stones. A perceptive Gringotts employee with magical experience, however, could see through the aged charms, and there had been a number of times where excavation of a muggle tomb had led to a wizarding offshoot, or a wizarding tomb in the nearby area.

The other benefit of working with muggles was that in the likely event you didn't find an Egyptian tomb, you got paid easy money to do very little work to aid eccentric rich muggles. Advice on how the excavation team should proceed, instruction on keeping the site clear of foreign contamination and preserving structural integrity were minor, mundane concerns compared to the challenge of excavating magical tombs.

William had done a number of these Gringotts contracted digs over the years – part in service to the Goblins, part in boredom and the off chance of finding a magical connection. This one, however, as he was explaining to the class, went a little bit differently.

One of the important elements of tomb exploration was structural integrity, and you got that with good scaffolding. This was particularly important as the tomb they were investigating was not a rock-cut tomb, and was created rather hurriedly in an area with suboptimal geological conditions. William and one of the offsiders from Gringotts headed in to inspect the job the scaffolding company had done. They had got as far as the staircase into the tomb proper when there was a landslide behind them, sealing the entrance.

It was, in reflection, one of the more comical tomb excavations he had done – apparently the scaffolders had disturbed the earth as they put up the scaffold, and in doing so, had also damaged the solidity of the ceiling. The moment the scaffolding gave way was the moment the two had stepped through the threshold. If William didn't know better, he would have sworn it was deliberate.

The story he was telling to the class had them travel deeper into the tomb, before finding a secret passageway to the surface. While this was a lie, it was certainly plausible enough to be believed by a group of students. A number of tombs – muggle and magical alike - had multiple entrances that were almost impossible to find from the surface, but from inside the tomb, if you knew what you were doing, they were significantly easier to locate.

The bell rang, and the class packed their books away and began to file out of the room. There were murmurings of "the new history teacher is really cool" from Dudley's gang and a number of other students as they traipsed out. Harry was the last to leave, and William looked at him with curiosity as he departed.

"Well, my friend, after 800 years, it's time to honour my promise." He murmured softly. He turned to face his dog.

"What did you think Reginald? Good lesson?" He asked the Jack Russell, who was not actually a Jack Russell. Reginald, the crup, barked once, and wagged its tail vigorously. Crups were very interesting animals. You were never going to find a more loyal companion, outside of perhaps a Phoenix, but they also hated muggles with a terrifying ferocity. As part of the ministry license required to own one, an owner had to be able to demonstrate control of the crup in areas where one would come across muggles. Reginald's loyalty to William trumped his pathological hatred of muggles, and he put on a cheerful act because his owner said so and who was he to disobey. While he didn't understand it, his master was nice, and thus he would comply – for the moment.

That bell marked the end of the school day, and William sat down in his chair, staring at the opposite classroom wall. It was adorned with tacky laminated pictures from some educational store about the pyramids, a Roman legionnaire tortoise and a cross-section of a tomb.

How interesting the story was depending on your magical background. A wizard would have loved the story about a secret passageway. A muggle would have loved the truth – that they had used magic to escape. The wizard that William was with had been able to get them out by levitating rocks out of the way, then directing a low-powered blasting curse at the ceiling, to make it look as if another landslide had dislodged the first stack of rocks.

William, of course, could have done all of those things. Could have.

Since those fateful moments in the Tomb of Hotep-Ra in 1140AD, where he had clutched the Ankh and been unable to call his magic, he had been a squib.

Admittedly, immortality did have its benefits – he had been able to travel across the world, learn and see amazing things, but he had also never stopped looking for methods or cures to recover his magic – and this included looking for the keystone and the tomb entrance.

There was something in his gut that told him the tomb had not disappeared forever, but rather, reset or relocated itself. Looking back at the fateful night, freed of the compulsion ward's influence on his memory and reviewed in a pensieve, he had noticed the collections from a number of different ancient civilizations, and hoped that meant the tomb rotated from locale to locale, perhaps a reflection on the lifestyle of Hotep-Ra when he was alive.

All the spellwork he had missed while travelling through the tomb – centrally the heavily disguised compulsion wards he didn't even know existed – was incredibly impressive, and certainly, if the wizard was powerful enough and had the stored magic of a number of other wizards and witches, relocation of a tomb was completely possible.

This was why, in spite of a number of negative experiences with tomb raiding, he still travelled the world with Gringotts and muggle universities to investigate newly discovered magical sites – to find more treasures, and hopefully, an insight into the location of either the key or the Tomb of Hotep-Ra itself. He didn't know if it was possible to reverse the drain, but he was going to try.

Initially, it was very difficult getting back into cursebreaking – it was a hard sell, as a squib, to convince prejudiced wizards to take someone with no magic into one of the most magic-intensive and dangerous professions outside of being an auror. You'd be more of a liability than an asset.

However, several teams had taken him as a porter, as he was still able to set up equipment. Some teams had also asked him for assistance as a local area guide, as his experience traveling through Egypt and the Levant during the Crusades served him well assisting teams who had never left London. It wasn't much, and it wasn't particularly satisfying, but it got his foot in the door. From there, he certainly had time to demonstrate his usefulness – and it was going to take time.

As a talented warder before he lost his magic, he knew that cursebreaking and warding were schools of magic that relied more on lateral thinking than magical power – or even capacity for magic. After a while, on some of the teams, he began to offer subtle suggestions to the teams about how to approach problems that they encountered, or assistance with the arithmancy equations. Quite often, there was pushback – people not wanting to take advice from a squib – in which case he desisted immediately.

Sometimes though, in a high results profession where failure could get one killed – or worse – good ideas were good ideas, no matter who provided them – and in a small circle of cursebreakers who shared that mentality, William soon developed a reputation for himself.

The goblins of the wizarding bank eventually became his most stalwart allies – he was a useful person for them to know, because of his years of experience. Of course, having good relations with the goblins did not stop one being categorized as an asset by the majority of them – there were limits on how much goblins would work and respect humans. That being said, William did enjoy working with them, because goblins were more magical pariahs than squibs were in the wizarding world.

The relationship functioned – they provided him with first option opportunities to lead archaeological digs as a head consultant, and gave him license to pick his team, which varied from dyed in the wool experienced cursebreakers to new, aspiring talent fresh out of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Salem and the other magical schools. They would be the ones responsible for all the magic, and he would provide the direction and experience. He trained and developed them, and they became progressively more proficient in their craft.

The cursebreaking and warding profession suited him. If you asked someone to name the top cursebreakers and warders in the world, they'd always have to ask a contractor or a government official who that was. It wasn't like Quidditch, where people's propensity for sport enabled them to rattle off every single person who had made the starting VII. This meant that he could stay under the radar, and change aliases after a number of years. Cursebreakers typically didn't have long lifespans, and he'd developed a convenient cover for why his face never changed – a glamour-curse during a particularly nasty job in Greece. If people persisted, a quiet word to Gringotts ensured those people didn't get their contract extended.

William picked up his satchel and walked out of the door, off to the small townhouse he had purchased on Wisteria Walk, close by to the school. This was the other benefit of being an immortal archaeologist working with a bank. You were never going to be short of money.

 **Saturday, 8** **th** **September 1990 – Laneway from Wisteria Walk to Magnolia Crescent**

It was a crisp, cold morning that was typical of England, even in autumn. The laneway's pavement was covered in leaves that had fallen from the trees that usually overhung. William walked down, his black dress shoes making clacking noises on the pavement. He wore a giant woollen overcoat, with a blue Chelsea FC scarf wrapped around his neck – a gift from one of his muggle friends after he showed more than a passing interest in the game. At his heels padded Reginald, who looked around attentively. In his hand was a cup of steaming coffee made up in the café next to the corner store.

There was a disturbance from the end of the alleyway. Casually, William's hand instinctively went to the inside of his pocket, where he had an engraved key that transfigured itself into a blade when pressed, a gift from his goblin friends. He moved his hand clear when he saw the nature of the disturbance.

Ten-year-old Harry Potter fled towards the Wisteria Walk exit, pursued by Dudley's gang. As they approached William, Harry slipped on one of the wet leaves and fell towards the ground. William caught him, one handed, his grip like iron, and righted him, mindful of his coffee in the other hand. He took a sip. It was at this point that Dudley's gang realized that the person wasn't someone who would just dismiss the game as children playing – rather, it was a teacher. Harry had been socially conditioned enough to know that he shouldn't rat out the gang, but in this instance, it wasn't particularly difficult to read into what was happening.

Despite the knowledge that William would likely see them at school on the Monday, the boys from the gang decided to bolt, turning and fleeing back up the pathway, as Reginald rounded his master and began barking at them with impatience – perhaps now his master would let him have a taste of muggle flesh?

With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, Reginald was silenced, his tail and ears drooping and he trudged back to his master's side. "Are you alright there Harry?" He asked, concerned, as the gang ran around the corner and disappeared.

William honestly wasn't sure what to make of Harry Potter. The boy was quiet in his classes, and despite appearing to pay attention to every single history class that he'd taught over the last two months, his performance in class had been less than satisfactory. Indeed, he had scored lowest in the class – the only person that was even in the same score bracket as him was Dudley Dursley. His assessment was made even more difficult when he noted that Harry spent almost as much of his breaks at school in the library as he did as a teacher, although he couldn't remember what the young Potter was reading.

Harry was very nervous now. It wasn't an option to talk about why he was being pursued by the gang – that would lead to more beatings from them, and possibly the belt from Uncle Vernon, when he got home – no doubt Dudley had assumed the worst and had concocted a story to get what Harry didn't know was called first mover's advantage.

"Reginald's been itching for a walk this morning – perhaps you'd like to join us?" William enquired – perhaps he'd be able to get the boy to open up about what was holding him back in class. He tried to draw comparisons between Godfrey and Harry. Despite the fact that they existed 800 years apart, Godfrey was confident and commanding, a forceful personality. Harry was, apart from a slight physical resemblance, the total antithesis.

"I probably shouldn't sir – I've got to go do my chores." Harry replied quietly, unsure of what the right decision was in this situation.

Looking for a conversation starter, William seized on it, gesturing ahead of him to indicate that Harry should walk. Reginald peered at the boy cautiously, before walking up and sniffing him. He didn't smell like a muggle. "What sort of chores does one do early on a Saturday morning?" He asked.

Harry realized a long conversation was probably a mistake, but he didn't normally have that opportunity with anyone – people at school avoided him due to retribution from Dudley's gang, and it was always better to be silent at the dinner table. "I've got to do the gardening, sir, and then I'll prepare lunch for my family." He answered. Generally, the rest of the weekend would be spent avoiding Dudley and his gang.

"If you've got gardening to do, from experience, it does take a long time. I'll walk you back to your house – I'd like to pick your brain about an assignment I want to set, and you might be able to help me." William said gently, seeing whether he could confirm his suspicion – his gut was that Harry was intentionally throwing his subjects to remain behind Dudley – follow-ups with his peers had confirmed that Harry ranked behind Dudley in every class possible.

Harry nodded, accepting that this was going to be the best resolution he got. It was likely that he was going to receive a beating, so he might as well have the conversation with Mr. Rawls, given that he wasn't likely to have anyone to converse with over the weekend if he was shut in the cupboard.

Reginald ran in small circles around Harry's feet as they walked down the end of the laneway. Harry looked at the dog almost in wonder. "If he does that, it means he likes you – if he does anything else…. maybe not so much." William remarked.

"He wags his tail a lot in class – I thought that was how dogs showed that they were happy." Harry said slowly. He'd read that in one of the books in the library. He'd wanted a pet when he was younger, but Vernon had insisted that he was a burden enough on the Dursley household that they would not be getting one, and Dudley had always shown no interest in animals.

William chuckled sheepishly at this. "He's happy – but maybe not for reasons you'd expect." Admitting the dog wanted to eat the students was likely to see him sacked. It was hard enough to get an exemption for the crup from the school's administration in the first place, but several publications in journals that linked improved learning performance with animals in the classroom got Reginald into the classroom on a trial basis.

Seeking to change the subject before Harry could consider asking a follow-up, he went ahead with his question to gauge Harry's historical knowledge. "I'm looking to set an assignment for my junior students that asks them why history is important – what do you think of that?"

Harry thought about his answer for a moment. "I think it'd be a good assignment – you have to care about a subject before you want to learn about it." He responded. "That way, you could see what they think is important, and maybe teach them things they'd find interesting?" He posited.

William smiled. "That's a good answer, Mr. Potter. Tell me – why do you care about history?" He asked carefully, couching his manner calmly so as not to make Harry feel like he was on trial.

"I guess I like history because I get to learn about different worlds, and to learn how people acted differently to us." He replied slowly. There was no way for Vernon and Petunia to know this conversation had happened, so if he impressed his teacher here, he couldn't get punished for it.

William nodded again. "Excellent, Mr. Potter. I'm glad to see you're finding my subject useful – always a good thing for a teacher, knowing that the lesson is appreciated." They rounded the corner from Magnolia Crescent, and ended up on Privet Drive. "Which house did you say was yours?" William asked. This conversation had given him confidence that Harry was intentionally fudging his marks in the subject – his attitude towards the class was inconsistent with the kind of material he was turning in.

"Number Four." Harry said quietly, having seen Vernon stomp out of the front door, and he noted that his uncle was now glaring at him. William guided Harry towards the front yard. "Get inside Potter!" Vernon called, with a hint of aggression. "Who are you?" He directed this at William.

"Ah, Mr. Dursley, I'd imagine?" William stepped forward and offered his hand. "I have the pleasure of teaching your son and Harry at St. Grogory's. My name is William Rawls." Harry stepped past him and entered the house, looking fearful at Vernon.

Vernon digested this information. "You teach what was it? History?" He asked suspiciously, in a gruff tone. William nodded his head in confirmation. "Yes – and might I say, your son Dudley is making excellent progress – his average has improved significantly since I took up the post."

Vernon's disposition turned happier. "Yes – he's a very bright boy, but I don't think the teachers at St. Grogory's understand him very well. He's going off to Smeltings when he graduates, just like his father." He said proudly.

"Smeltings is an excellent school, Mr. Dursley – I'm sure your son will be in safe hands there. I'll do my best to support his learning while he's here though." William responded. He acknowledged privately that this man was taking potshots at his coworkers, but it was more important to get Vernon Dursley on-side if he wanted to see any positive changes in Harry than stand up for a school that, on the whole, he felt no attachment to.

"I'm grateful – about time someone at the school recognized my son. How do you know of Smeltings?" Vernon asked curiously.

"Oh, I think someone I did business with once said they came from there. They were a ferocious negotiator – had a knack and drive for it I'll never attain." William said.

"What's your background then, if you studied at Oxford – why are you working at St. Grogory's?" Vernon asked, suspicion back in his voice.

"Ah – I studied a Doctorate in history at Oxford, and then went on to do my MBA at Harvard. History teaching isn't my usual job, but I'm here as a favour to a colleague – I've left my business with my partner and assistants, who are more than capable of running things." He responded to Vernon.

The goblins were the ones who had encouraged his participation in higher education. They had reasoned that if William wanted access to as many digs as possible, in order to check them for magical offshoots, he'd need to attend muggle digs as well, and that process was made easier if the archaeologist had some kind of accreditation. The goblins had arranged for enrolment into schools that they explained were "well regarded" by the muggle population.

William had found the learning environment very difficult. He'd spent a lot of time reading and teaching over his 800 years, but there was a big difference between practical and formal education environments. He had failed several subjects in his undergraduate degree, and it had taken him a year of adaption before he was able to start improving his marks, to the point where he'd only scraped through the cutoff allowing him to apply for the Doctorate, where even then, he did not perform to a particularly high standard.

He did feel more comfortable in the environment now though. He continued to return to communicate and discuss the findings of some of his digs with the colleagues he had matriculated with who had chosen to go on and teach. As academics, they dedicated their lives to their crafts in the same way William did with warding, and were able to offer insights and advice on historical artefacts, cultures and time periods of sites Gringotts investigated. In exchange, they asked William for insights and contributions from his self-and-private-funded field work that they could use in their papers. These contributions had, of course, to be written properly – ruefully, he thought, it wasn't possible to just submit a page of dot points.

Vernon honestly wasn't sure what to make of this man in front of him, and was trying to run a mental table of likes and dislikes at the same time. He appreciated that St. Grogory's had hired someone competent, someone with business acumen and someone who knew and regarded Smeltings, but this man seemed like an academic – who got a Doctorate in History anyway? Vernon decided, after the mental gymnastics, that he liked this man – business people, even if they liked history, were normal.

"Sorry, if you'll permit me? What's your story, Mr. Dursley?" William enquired. He already knew a bit about Vernon from eavesdropping in the staff room, and from observations as he walked around the neighbourhood and local area, but that was hardly enough to make character judgements.

"Please, call me Vernon." The beefy man said. "I'm the Director of Grunnings Drills." He said with pride.

"Ah – this is the drilling company in Greater Surry?" William asked – he'd seen it on his numerous commutes back to London. Very distinctive, it was very prominent next to one of the stations he passed, a red bricked industrial building with smokestack chimneys.

"Yes, that's the one." Vernon confirmed.

William checked his watch. "Ah, I'm sorry Vernon – I've got to head off to a meeting – you know how they are – sitting in a room for a few hours and nothing getting done." They both laughed. "It was good to meet you – perhaps I'll see you at the parent teacher evening? I'll have another update for you as to Dudley and Harry's progress when I see you next."

"I wouldn't hold out much hope of that boy making any improvement – my Dudley has been beating him in class since he arrived at school, and he's never improved – if anything, he's got worse." Vernon laughed. William masked his disdain with cheeriness, glancing down at Reginald, who appeared to be quivering, ready to rip and rend. He nudged the crup with his shin, and instantly the crup appeared like a placid, happy animal again.

"Well, we'll see what we can do – I've never met a student I couldn't help! Pleasure to meet you!" William cheerfully lied through his teeth. "Here's my card – let me know if you need anything!"

With that, the tall brown haired man turned on his heel, and with a lingering expression of hunger, Reginald padded off after him.

Vernon looked down at the card – William Rawls, Managing Director – Raven Consultancy. Strange name for a business, he thought as he walked inside, his idea of reprimanding Harry Potter completely absent from his mind, distracted by the man.

Harry, wisely, had retreated to the back yard, where he would be out of sight of Vernon. When no beating eventuated, he decided that it had in fact been a very good morning. He enjoyed the conversation with his teacher, and there was no punishment that followed up.

As William Rawls walked away, he began to think. In order to assess the situation, he needed more information. It was time to have a look at the magical protections on Privet Drive. He knew just the person to call.

 **Tuesday, 11** **th** **September 1990 – Number Four, Privet Drive**

It was called the witching hour by the Muggles, and had significance to Arithmancy in the magical world. William stood watching the stone townhouse that held the Dursley family and one Harry Potter. He checked his watch. 12.01am. There was a very soft voice from behind him. "William." He turned around and saw a tall man with Arabian features standing behind him. He was in his late thirties, and had a short-trimmed goatee and moustache. His eyes were alert, scanning, never at ease. His attire was high quality – a suit with a black woollen trenchcoat over the top as a guard against the winter chill, he held a wooden staff in one of his gloved hands. "Atef." William replied, offering the man his hand. Atef clasped it, and the two men embraced.

William had met Atef Hassani on the man's first archaeology contract. Organized by the Egyptian Ministry of Magic, the Department of Magical Antiquities had specifically asked Gringotts for their best to pair with Atef, who having graduated from the Egyptian Academy of Magic with one of the best records in recent history, they regarded as a prodigy. William certainly took some credit for the training of the man, but Atef had a natural intuition for warding that few possessed, and he combined that with a professional diligence and workmanship.

At the conclusion of the apprenticeship, William had recognized Atef's potential and offered him a partnership in his consultancy company, but the Egyptian had politely declined, instead accepting a position as the Deputy Director of the Department of Magical Antiquities, entering the service of his country. He was one of the legends of the profession now, and his knowledge of Egyptian history and Egyptian tombs was very well regarded.

The Egyptian Department of Magical Antiquities was based in Luxor as opposed to Cairo, closer to the majority of unexplored magical tombs that were in the Valley of the Kings and the environs around there. The department employed a team of cursebreakers and warders who usually dealt with ward requests and decursings from the Egyptian magical community, and they also employed a team of scouts – people who, like Gringotts, accompanied muggle digs or searched through the country for unexplored magical sites.

The rationale for this was that some wizards and witches in Egyptian history chose to live in relative isolation, free to study and pursue their own interests. Sometimes they formed purely magical communities, which would be far from any established muggle area like a city or necropolis.

It was the scouts from the Egyptian Ministry who found those, as most companies did not bother with the effort – Egypt was a large place and most wizards and witches were ill-equipped and unfamiliar with the rigours of travelling the desert. To complicate matters further, it was not unheard of for a site that had been checked by scouts to have a tomb appear there at a later date. Ward stones embedded with magical power by the creators of the tomb could render the site undetectable, but over time, as the wards progressively drew on magic, albeit slowly due to them not being placed under stress, they would weaken or fail, rendering the tomb visible.

In theory, all magical digs in Egypt were supposed to go through the Department of Magical Antiquities via a competitive tender process that determined which company would have the right to excavate. There were disadvantages to participating in the tender process however, meaning that wasn't always the case. The department zealously guarded the interests of Egypt, and they argued that the contents of the tombs were entirely the property of the Egyptian people – magic and muggle. This meant that if you were contracted to excavate or deward a tomb by the Egyptian Ministry, you'd only be getting the tender fee, as opposed to the tomb's riches.

Some companies and groups who weren't likely to receive a tender offer, or found a tomb or site that the Ministry wasn't aware of often chose to excavate on their own, gambling that the contents of the tomb would be worth more than the tender that the Egyptian Ministry would've offered. Gringotts steered clear of this, as they were a very competitive partner in the tender process due to the experience of their team – it meant that they had pick of the sites, without having to employ scouts and engage in a cat and mouse game with the Department of Antiquities. They also avoided dealing with the vengeful Egyptian Auror Corps.

As a result of his working with the muggle digs, or supervising the tendered company, Atef had worked with William many times and a mutual respect existed between the two. William rated his colleague so highly that when there were digs outside of Egypt, Atef was always the first person he asked Gringotts to try and contract to be a member of the team. Apart from one time in Greece, the Egyptian had declined all other offers, preferring to keep an eye on his own country. It didn't stop William from trying though.

"I have one hour before I need to return to Luxor, William." Atef informed him quietly. The man spoke a slow, precise English, even though he was a fluent speaker. "We have found a group working a tomb without the permission of the Department of Antiquities." He didn't have to say more. The Department of Antiquities through their tomb excavations were armed with tomes of unique magical knowledge, which they used to train Egyptian aurors, who would pursue the illegal group until they were wiped out. This was another very compelling reason not to operate independently.

"The house is this one over here." William gestured at Number Four, Privet Drive. Atef nodded, moving towards the property. He raised his staff. The diagnostic charm would be deployed here, to identify the wards around Privet Drive.

The diagnostic charm presented the largest threat to people who built wards, and the best quality wards demanded the highest fee, because they guaranteed protection against all but the most skilled wardbreakers.

Novices didn't have the finesse or talent to cast the diagnostic charm in a way that was undetectable by the wards that were magically tuned to emit an alarm if excess, foreign magic was added. However, these were also the people that had the weakest diagnostic charm in the first place, and weren't likely to be a threat to your wards – they wouldn't gain much from the identification, and probably were unsure about how to attack them.

The diagnostic charm presented the largest threat to people who built wards. Novice cursebreakers didn't have the finesse to cast the charm in a way that was undetectable by wards that were alarmed – but they were also the people who had the weakest diagnostic charm, and wouldn't gain much from identifying the wards in the first place.

You paid good money to the ward builders to defend against the best – but some of the best could cast a diagnostic that was impossible for the ward to detect – it was an imperceptible piece of magic. Making the ward sensitive enough to the diagnostic charm cast by a handful of experts would trigger false alarms on the ward every time the ward stone refreshed it.

The saving grace for the ward builders was that there were only a few people who had that type of talent, and it was a very hard talent to cultivate. It was possible to learn how to cast a diagnostic spell that didn't trip a magical sensor on the ward and trigger an alarm while excavating a magical site, but why would you need to? Anyone that could have been alerted by the alarm was long dead, so most people chose not to bother with the amount of effort and detail required to perfect that fine-tuned spellwork.

There were several instances, however, where you might need to be able to cast that type of spell, which is why there were a few people with the skill. Some tombs had wards that, upon detecting excess magic, raised Inferi or some other construct that could stand the test of time to destroy the people excavating the tomb. The other group of people who possessed it were burglars or assassins, who needed to bypass wards in order to earn a living. All of these people were incredibly difficult to contact, lived behind their own, self-crafted and powerful wards, or had other agendas at play that constrained them from involving themselves in dewarding.

Atef pointed his staff at William and muttered an incantation. This was a piece of arithmancy that had taken William a hundred to write and have people with magical abilities test. This was a literal lifetime for humans, but the benefit had been hugely significant. It was what allowed William to engage in the cursebreaking profession after becoming a squib. The spell linked people, and allowed a single diagnostic charm to source augmentations – arithmancy formulae that had been memorized by the casters used to identify specific ward types – from every single person who was linked, and also share vision of the diagnostic spell.

After linking William, he raised his staff and in the direction of the ward, made a push movement. A red light flashed from his staff, racing forward to wrap the entire perimeter of the ward in a blanket, before it came back and hovered in front of him and William, who, as the spellcasters, were the only ones who could see it.

The red light spiralled and settled in to display a ward chart. The ward chart was a line of different arithmantic symbols hanging in the air, with sets of symbols representing and providing detail about a specific ward that made up the whole. From that information, it was possible to design a specific dispel for each ward – although it was often a lengthy process for each one.

Atef's eyebrow raised, the solemn Egyptian's equivalent of his jaw dropping. "Who did you say was living here?" He asked. William shook his head. "I didn't." He let out a low whistle.

The two men spent the next forty-five minutes looking over the ward chart and forming conclusions about the types of defences. From the observation, it was clear that this was an unconventional ward configuration, and interestingly, two different magic signatures had been used in the construction of the ward – but there was a relationship between the two.

The outer layer of wards featured a range of enchantments that were reasonably standard for people that valued protection on their properties. These included structural integrity charms and harm suppression charms – the types of things that rendered muggle property insurance not needed. There were also wards that covered anonymity and restriction, like the unplotability and anti-apparation wards, as well as magical suppression wards, which prevented magic from being cast within the warded area.

Crucially, the magical suppression ward had three exceptions. One was the magical signature of the outer ward, as well as the inner ward, and the third was an anonymous one that William guessed was Harry's. The inner ward was much more interesting. "These are incredibly powerful sacrificial blood wards." Atef remarked.

The basic premise of blood wards was sacrifice – a human cost. Blood that was unwillingly provided for a ward was weaker, and consequently less useful. Blood, or a human life sacrificed willingly provided an incredibly powerful ward or protection, but it was also less likely that you'd have people willing to die for the strength of your ward.

The problem with blood wards was that if you had never seen them before, they wouldn't show up on your diagnostic. When you attempted a general dispel, you wouldn't have enough strength to do remove them, and they'd still be active when you crossed the threshold. That had happened twice to William – the first was in Egypt, at a temple, and the second was in the Yucatan, where there had been a mass human sacrifice to generate power for the ward. That usually had disastrous consequences, but did alert you to the fact that a ward existed, so you could continually create trial and error tests based on what had happened to be able to identify the ward in the future.

William and Atef in their time in the profession had seen first-hand or learned arithmancy formulae through other colleagues that gave them a good working knowledge of blood wards. Due to the complex nature of those types of wards, each civilization only had a certain number of types, and methods for casting them. That meant that they weren't difficult to identify, and you usually didn't come across them that often. Removing them with a specific dispel took a lot a lot longer, however, as the magical elements were quite complex and required at times guesswork.

"What are your thoughts the inner wards Atef?" William asked, interested to hear the Egyptian man's opinion. "For the protection of an individual, I have rarely seen better wards. The person who sacrificed themselves would be a parent of the individual, I would guess – that would explain the strong base. The element that interests me is the incremental increase in the strength of the ward. I would say that the longer the person who is protected by the ward remains in the house, the better the level of protection. However, if they willingly choose to abandon the house permanently, the wards will fail." Atef concluded his analysis.

"It was good to see you William. I hope your teaching sabbatical is fulfilling, but I would prefer you back in my homeland as soon as possible." Atef remarked.

"I'll be over in the Christmas holidays – if you would like to catch up in Luxor then, let me know." William responded. Atef was one of the few people that he'd spent enough time with that he could now call the man a friend.

"I shall take my leave now William." He announced. William inclined his head, and with a turning of his heel, the Egyptian turned to sand, dissapparating silently with the grains heaping onto the ground before vanishing a moment later.

While walking back to his townhouse, William considered the strategic approach for the rest of the year.

Harry's overall quality of life at this point in time was unsatisfactory. Dudley Dursley was responsible for bullying him and stunting his ability to perform academically by causing Harry to fear retribution if he beat Dudley.

If William could change Dudley's perception of Harry, Harry's quality of life would improve, both at school and at home – to an extent. The Dursley parents still disliked Harry, but from what William had seen, it was only a cold demeanour they put up to the boy.

He could withdraw Harry from the house of the Dursleys, but those sacrificial wards could prove to be an exceptionally powerful resource if Harry ever needed to escape an enemy, and William was someone who understood the importance of a good ward system. Perhaps he'd even be able to have Atef or the original caster improve the protections further. They lost that if he pulled Harry out, and it was impossible to repair or transfer those types of wards.

The solution then, until Harry got his Hogwarts letter, was to work on Dudley Dursley and try to convince him to change his opinion of Harry. Despite any popularity that he could generate with the student body, he would never be able to influence Dudley positively if he didn't have the support of Vernon. Dudley respected his father significantly, and did not have the drive to get into the habit of completing his schoolwork – he needed initial motivation.

Clearly, due to Harry's current status of being ostracized, Vernon was not going to be supportive of any message that told Dudley to befriend Harry. If, however, it could be delivered in a way that appealed to Dudley and allowed him to form his own conclusions, then Vernon wouldn't suspect, and perhaps, would actively encourage Dudley to listen to the messaging. It all depended on how it was sold.

William would eventually realize that he had made the wrong decision when he learned that Harry lived in a cupboard underneath the stairs, and the public façade of frostiness Vernon put on towards the boy hid abuse and white-hot hatred.

For now, though, it was time to set the wheels in motion on the plan he had decided on. It was time to plot.


End file.
